


A Good Gamble

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Casino AU, First Dates, First Meetings, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: Phil never anticipated that SHIELD Security's bid to work on Tony Stark's newest project would lead to a chance meeting and the biggest win of his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avidreader6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avidreader6/gifts).



> For Dani. Happy Valentine's Day, m'dear! Couldn't quite get your game night prompt, but I hope this is okay!
> 
> Unbetaed, so please, if you notice something, let me know!
> 
> (Also, there is no Twin Palms Casino in Vegas. I made that one up...)

 

Phil Coulson waited patiently in the business office of The Island Hotel and Casino, carefully cataloging his surroundings.

The office was quiet and calm, a far cry from the bright colors and loud sounds of the gaming floor several dozen feet away -- it might as well have been a different world. The carpet was thick and plush under his feet -- no mere industrial floor covering over concrete -- and the colors were soft, muted, soothing.

It was as different from the jungles and deserts he'd spent his previous career in as it was from the casino floor, and Phil stifled a quiet chuckle. At times he still had trouble reconciling that this world of decadence was his life now. Sometimes, anyway -- not all of his clients were anywhere near this wealthy, though most aspired to be.

A door just to the left of the receptionist's desk swung open, and Phil glanced over. A smartly dressed redhead came through.

"Mr. Coulson?"

"Yes, good morning." He gave her a polite smile, which she returned, and his hand. Her grip was firm and strong against his calloused palm.

"Good morning. I'm Virginia Potts, but you can call me Pepper. Mr. Stark will see you now."

He followed her through the door and then through a maze of corridors, thinking quickly over what he knew of this job.

The Island was a science-themed casino hotel, one critics had said was destined to fail. Designed and owned by scientist, engineer, and industrialist billionaire Tony Stark, it clearly reflected his interests. A museum dedicated to the history of computers in gaming, a robotics collection, restaurants that specialized in molecular gastronomy, shops where patrons could design their own formulas for perfumes or tea and coffee blends or the perfect candy bar, shows that seamlessly blended magic and science -- it was clear The Island was a smart place to play. It was packed, filled to capacity every night of the year, and Tony Stark was once more laughing all the way to the bank.

His latest project was the retrofitting, reconstruction, and expansion of one of the Strip's older and less glamorous hotels to create an exclusive luxury resort that -- as far as Phil could tell from the plans he'd seen -- would make the Wynn's Encore and the Palazzo at the Venetian look like off-Strip chain motels.

But older hotels had their own problems, not least that older hotels and older casinos had older security systems. Stark had contacted SHIELD Security to consult on the retrofit, and that was why Phil was here now. SHIELD was a new firm, only formed four years earlier when he and Nick had simultaneously retired from the army, but it had quickly risen to the top of its field, and Stark wanted nothing but the best for the Tower that was to bear his name.

Ms. Potts led him through a pair of double doors into a conference room flooded bright with the light of the desert sun.

"Phil Coulson with SHIELD Security to see you, Mr. Stark," she announced, and the three people in the office turned toward the door.

Stark -- Phil recognized him from a dozen magazine covers -- stood, frowning. He was about Phil's height, which was nice, as Phil was somewhat used to being towered over, given his current and former field of work, and he was slim and fit in a beautifully tailored suit, his eyes dark but bright with intelligence and insight.

"Where's Fury?" he asked shortly, looking Phil up and down.

"Mr. Fury is currently closely involved in the critical testing phase with one of our clients, and he regrets that he could not meet with you at this time," Phil said smoothly. What Nick had actually said was, _If this guy's as much of an asshole as everyone claims he is, I'm liable to deck him. You go deal with him, Cheese, you're better at the diplomacy shit._ "I am his partner, co-founder and head consultant and analyst. Should you have any questions or concerns I am unable to address, Mr. Fury would be more than happy to meet with you as soon as he is available, but I have been led to understand that you would like to begin work as soon as possible."

Stark narrowed his eyes and eyeballed him once more. Phil carefully kept his expression perfectly bland, a mild smile on his lips. Far scarier men than Tony Stark had stared Phil down over the years, and most of them were in the ground now.

After a moment, Stark flapped a hand dismissively and then turned to gesture at the room's other occupants. "Yeah, whatever. Okay, work to do here -- Coulson, this is Steve Rogers, my chief of security, and Natasha Romanov, deputy chief of security. Rogers is the reason you're here. He's a throwback. I let him design the security for my tower, I'll end up with black and white CCTVs with onsite tape backup."

Rogers -- tall and blond and baseball-mom-and-apple-pie handsome -- crossed his arms over his broad chest and rolled his eyes. His suit had to be custom tailored, Phil thought briefly -- there was no way off-the-rack fit those shoulders.

"I'm not a throwback, Tony. Just because I prefer a retro aesthetic in my own space -- "

"You listen to vinyl, Steve."

"It sounds better."

"It sounds -- now that's just ridiculous."

"Ipods have no soul, Mr. Stark," Phil said, amused, lips quirking in a grin when Rogers smiled and pointed happily at him and Stark rolled his eyes.

"Jesus, another one. And do me a favor, Coulson -- we don't mention that brand in this house."

"Of course. My apologies."

"I think we're going to get along just fine, Mr. Coulson," Steve said gleefully, exchanging a warm glance with Phil. Romanov observed the three of them coolly, quiet and watchful, and Phil recognized a fellow former operative. He wondered who she'd worked for.

"Please," he said, offering his hand to Rogers. "Call me Phil."

"And I'm Steve," the younger man said as they shook hands.

"Yeah, yeah, now that we're all acquainted, I'll leave you kids to the fun stuff. Hope you can do something with it. Laufeyson and his morons did a number on it."

Phil had done some reading on the hotel's history on the plane. Loki Laufeyson of Laufeyson Holdings was The Tower's previous owner. His lack of a set plan regarding demolition or reconstruction meant that parts of the hotel were in pretty bad shape, and it had sat abandoned for several years before Stark's purchase.

"Your project looks promising, Mr. Stark. SHIELD Security wouldn't have gotten involved otherwise. Mr. Fury does not enjoy wasting his time, and neither do I."

Stark nodded appraisingly. "Good to hear. Now. I'm sure I have some other meeting to crash. Ms. Potts?"

"You're scheduled to meet with -- "

"You know what, it doesn't matter. Just point me there." He glanced back at Coulson. "I'll be back this afternoon to see what you've come up with."

Phil watched as Stark left with his assistant, the two of them standing slightly too close to be perfectly professional. The warmth and friendliness between them spoke to a more than strictly working relationship, and Phil filed the information away.

Gathering intel -- and it _wasn't_ gossip, no matter what Maria and Nick had to say about it -- had been his job for too long for him to safely abandon his habits now. One never knew when a stray bit of information might come in handy, after all.

He turned back to Rogers and Romanov as the security chief gestured to the conference table covered in various files and binders.

"Shall we?" Rogers asked.

"Let's get to work," Phil replied, moving toward the table.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil stood silently in the otherwise empty elevator as it rose to the thirty-ninth floor and the suite Stark had given him for the night. He'd protested the lavish accommodations, but the man had been pleased by the work they'd done over a long day of planning, and he'd insisted.

Phil was pleased too. Rogers' plans were solid, no matter how Stark had teased him, and Romanov's plans were sneaky. Both together were strong, the two of them worked together seamlessly, and they were a pleasure to work with. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this assignment, which was good, as he anticipated it would take at least a year, and possibly two, before the systems were in place and finalized.

The elevator dinged as it reached his floor and he grabbed the handle of his little carryon, settling his garment bag more firmly on his shoulder. With a last smirk at the poster on the wall of the elevator, he stepped off.

 _The God of Thunder_ , he thought in amusement, shaking his head as he walked down the hall. He wouldn't have thought mythology a fitting subject for a show at The Island -- it was a better fit for Caesar's Palace -- but the all-male show headlined by the smiling, godlike (even Phil could admit that) man in the poster was a sellout every show, and _money_ was Tony Stark's true deity, after all.

The man known as Thor fit the name, that much was true. Bright blue eyes, flowing golden hair, a blinding smile, and muscles that rippled invitingly as he raised the enormous hammer over his head.

He was gorgeous, but Phil preferred his men a little closer to his size, leaner and compact. Not that it made much of a difference these days what he was looking for in a man. SHIELD had taken over his life in a way even the Rangers never had -- even in the army he'd had leave occasionally. With SHIELD, he was constantly immersed in work when he was at home in New York, and when he was on the road consulting, well -- Phil wasn't really much of a quick-hookup-in-random-cities kind of guy anymore. He'd had more than enough of that in the army.

Phil sighed tiredly as the electronic keycard beeped and let him into the suite. He stopped just inside the door, blinking at the opulence of the room. It seemed a shame to waste it on only one night's stay.

The bed looked inviting -- he was exhausted, and still on New York time, after all -- but he had reservations for dinner in a few hours at The Lab, one of the hotel's five star restaurants, again courtesy of Stark, and it would be rude to blow them off for a nap he might not wake up from until the morning. Wouldn't it? Yeah, he thought, sighing again, it would. The contract was signed, but there was no sense in pissing off the client.

Besides, it was Vegas. If Nick somehow found out -- and he would -- that Phil had come to Vegas and gone directly from work to bed to the airport, he was likely to send Phil back immediately just to make a point.

So he hung his garment bag in the closet and set his carryon on the luggage stand, changed into a fresh shirt and tie, and headed back out to explore The Island.

He took quick trips through both the museum and the robotics collection -- both were fascinating, and he resolved to spend more time in them on his next trip back, when he wasn't too tired to appreciate them. It was fun, he decided, messing around with the coffees and designing custom blends for himself and Maria and Jasper and Nick, which he arranged to have delivered directly to SHIELD's New York offices.

He found himself on the gaming floor, taking in the bright colors and frantic sounds of the slot machines and the delighted cries and despairing groans that came from the direction of the tables.

Phil decided to try his luck at a few hands of blackjack -- a very few, he modified quickly. $25 a hand was a little rich for his blood.

He cashed in for some chips and then took a seat at a half-filled table, nodding politely at the dealer. She was young and pretty, clearly bored with her job and trying hard to pretend like she wasn't.

The first few hands went pretty well for him, and he ordered a drink from a passing waitress, pleased he hadn't holed himself up in his room for the evening.

"Blackjack," the dealer announced with a nod for him, and he grinned as he pulled in his chips.

The couple next to him moved away, leaving him alone at the table, but they were quickly replaced by two young men in their late twenties or early thirties. The one next to Phil was clearly intoxicated, and Phil pursed his lips in annoyance as the man swayed, knocking Phil's elbow and scattering his chips. The one on the far side of him was also drunk, but not as noticeably as the guy next to Phil.

"How d'we play this game again?" the guy next to him slurred, and the dealer gave him a tight smile as she explained the rules.

The three of them played a couple of hands, and... something felt off to Phil. His instincts were pinging, and he hadn't survived twenty years in the army -- fourteen as a Ranger -- by ignoring his instincts. He started keeping closer track of how things were going for his new friends.

The lush next to Phil was loud and clumsy and losing pretty heavily, only winning a hand or two, but his friend was doing very well for himself. He won seven out of ten hands, which turned into eleven out of fifteen, and Phil was not surprised to see the pit boss step up to the table.

"Dealer change," he said in a gruff voice, and the two men beside Phil groaned dramatically.

"Sorry, boys, break time," their dealer said with a smile -- much more friendly toward Phil than the men beside him, and it only widened when he handed her a chip in gratitude.

Phil nearly swallowed his tongue as the new dealer stepped up. He was around Phil's height, lean and fit, the red vest of his dealer's uniform accenting his narrow waist and trim hips, and the black button down shirt under the vest stretched tightly over the muscles of his arms and shoulders. His hair was sandy brown and short and spiked, and his eyes were -- Phil took a deep breath and let out it slowly and (he hoped) unobtrusively -- his eyes were incredible.

"Hey, guys, I'm Clint," he said with a grin. "Ready to play?"

Phil tried to pay attention to his still screaming instincts as they started playing again, but it was difficult to concentrate with the sudden surge of lust he was battling.

Clint was warm and friendly and open, and his eyes kept finding Phil's, far too often to be coincidental, his smile widening just a little every time their gazes locked. Phil couldn't help but watch the way his hands deftly dealt and flipped the cards over the felt of the table.

Phil lost four hands in a row, the fourth on an error so stupid he felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. Clint's face might have hidden his amusement well, but it was clear in those eyes, and Phil would have been offended, but it was obvious the man was trying to laugh with him, not at him.

"Blackjack. We have a winner," Clint announced as the man on the end cheered. "Again. Seems to be your lucky day, sir."

"I love Vegas," the man crowed, raking in his chips.

"Looks like she loves you too," the dealer replied, and Phil blinked as Clint winked at him. He smiled tentatively back and then blinked again as the table was suddenly surrounded by six imposing security guards.

"Excuse me, sir, Island security. You'll have to come with us," the biggest of them said to the man at the end of the table, and then glanced at the lucky guy's friend, who suddenly seemed a lot more sober. "You too, sir. Come with me."

They were off the floor nearly before Phil could process it. It had been done so quickly and quietly that only a few of the other patrons seemed to have even noticed.

"Looks like it's just me and you, sir," Clint said warmly, and Phil nodded distractedly, his attention still on the inconspicuous door at the edge of the casino floor.

He turned back to the dealer to see the man eying him speculatively. He kept his face open, his smile polite. "Actually, I think that's my signal to call it a night. Good evening," he added, easily flipping the man a chip, completely unsurprised when he deftly snatched it out of the air, grinning at Phil.

"Good night," Clint murmured with a nod.

Phil shoved the rest of his chips in his pockets and moved hurriedly toward the elevator. A quick stop in his suite for the visitors' security badge Rogers had given him that he'd dropped there earlier, and he made his way back down and through the door the guards had disappeared into.

He was immediately stopped by a pair of uniformed guards, but a quick call up to the security control room had them nodding him through on Rogers' okay.

He stepped into the control room to see Rogers, Romanov, and a couple of the smaller guards who'd taken the guys away staring at a large security monitor. The sheer size of the room and number of camera feeds was a little overwhelming, and he focused instead on Rogers' body language. The man was scowling as he watched the monitor, his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest.

Rogers glanced up and caught Phil's eye. "Phil."

"Steve. Had a chance to see your men in action, thought I'd see if I could get the full story."

Rogers snorted. "Not much to tell yet. Again," he ordered, and the footage on the monitor they were watching skipped back to a predetermined point before playing again. It was focused on the hands of the man who'd been at the end of the table. It played through to where the guards came in, and someone -- one of the uniformed guards, Phil thought -- swore, low and vicious.

"There's nothing, Steve," the man said. "I don't know what he saw, but if we can't see it, we're going to have to let them go. As it is, even _with_ proof, there's not much we can get his pal on."

As one, they all glanced toward the side of the room, and Phil followed their gaze. The two men were sitting glumly in a containment room to the side of the control room, a stern security guard frowning at them as he leaned against the opposite wall. A one-way mirror provided those on this side of it a clear view inside.

"Play it again," Rogers said wearily, and it was halfway through when Phil felt someone step up behind him.

"Hey, guys, what're we watchin'?" a familiar voice said brightly, and Phil stiffened, turning slowly to see Clint the dealer standing easily beside him. The man stared at Phil in confusion for a moment and then turned his gaze to the monitor they were all watching. 

Phil really shouldn't have been surprised. Clint was no more a blackjack dealer than Phil was an insurance salesman.

"What the hell did you see, Barton?" the guard who'd spoken earlier snapped. "'cause we got nothin'."

"You're blind, Barnes," Clint -- Barton -- whoever -- snarked back. Phil watched him watch the monitor, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and then he nodded, quick and decisive. "There."

"Where?" Steve snapped.

"Back it up. Slow it down."

It took them slowing the footage down to a third of its real speed and Clint carefully pointing at the monitor with his fingertip for any of the rest of them to see the switch of the cards.

"Holy shit," Barnes murmured, and the guard beside him gave a long, low whistle as Romanov quietly murmured something -- even _she_ sounded impressed.

Rogers clapped Clint on the back as he laughed. "He's good, but you're better. Good job, Barton."

"How did you even see that?" Phil murmured, surprising himself, and Clint chuckled.

"That's why we call him Hawkeye," Barnes grinned, and Clint grinned back as he slung an arm around Romanov's neck, pulled her close, and pressed a loud, smacking, celebratory kiss on her mouth. She batted him away, but she was smiling as she stayed tucked under his arm, and Phil swallowed the disappointment that surged through him.

He looked away and toward the monitor, which was showing a different angle now, and he watched Clint wink at him, saw his stupidly pleased smile in return, and he realized -- the wink was the signal for the guards.

Mortification churned in his gut. Clint wasn't flirting with him -- he was just the distraction. Misdirection to keep the targets from realizing they were under observation.

Rogers and his staff were discussing what to do next, and Phil caught his eye and gave him a nod, hoping to escape before the embarrassed flush he could feel rising made it to his face.

He was waiting at the elevator bank in the lobby when a hand grabbed his elbow. He whirled, breaking the hold, hands up defensively, glad that his time as a civilian had at least softened his instincts enough that he no longer lashed out blindly when surprised.

"Whoa, hey!" Clint said hastily, his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, won't do that again. I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Clint Barton."

He held out his hand with a smile, and Phil pushed down the irrational urge to wipe the smile off his face with a fist.

"Phil Coulson," he said coolly. He wasn't quite rude enough not to shake when prompted, and he blinked when his hand closed around Clint's. His hand was rough and calloused, almost like Phil's, but not... exactly. His calluses were different, and Phil wondered if he were a musician, maybe.

"Nice to meetcha. Hey, listen, I'm gonna have to give a statement really quick once PD gets here, but my shift's over after that. Do you maybe wanna grab a drink?"

Phil stared at him, unable to believe the man's audacity.

Clint's cocky grin wilted, just a little, and a look of uncertainty briefly crossed his face. "Um, okay... it's possible I read the situation completely wrong. I, uh... sorry."

"I don't go out with men who are openly unfaithful," Phil said icily.

"What?" Clint's eyes widened, and if Phil weren't feeling so angry and embarrassed, he might have found it comical. "I'm not -- what?"

"I may not have your vision, _Hawkeye_ ," he spat, and Clint flinched, "But I _saw_ you. With Ms. Romanov."

"Nat?" Clint muttered, his brow creasing in confusion. Then his eyes widened again, and he gave sort of a half-laugh, half-gasp as he reached up to nervously rub the back of his neck. "Oh! All right, uh, yeah, I can see how that might have looked... but, jeez, Nat -- she's like my sister, okay, and even if I did -- I mean even if I were straight, I'd stay away from Nat, she's fucking terrifying."

It startled a laugh out of Phil, and Clint grinned again.

"I'm, uh, sorry for the overreaction," Phil began, even more embarrassed now, but Clint waved it off.

"Can't blame you. I'd have been pretty pissed too. But, hey, it was really great to have you at the table earlier," he told Phil. "I hardly ever get to mix business and pleasure so nicely."

"Glad to have been of such use as a distraction," Phil said dryly.

"I would have made use of you as a distraction, no matter what," Clint told him seriously. "Flirting with you was just a bonus."

Phil fought to hold his gaze, trying to keep his breathing steady. Clint's eyes were intense, focused, and Phil still couldn't quite tell what color they were, if they were even a single color at all.

Clint's phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket and checked it, swearing quietly. He looked back up at Phil. "PD's here, I have to go. I'm serious about that drink, though."

 _What the hell, why not._ "I have reservations at The Lab at 8:30. Join me?"

Clint looked surprised at the offer, and it dawned on Phil that an invitation to drinks and whatever came after was not the same as an invitation to dinner. Especially a dinner at a five star restaurant. It really _had_ been a while since he'd been in the game.

"Never mind -- "

"No! I mean, I'd like to. Join you. It's just..." Clint bit his lip, and Phil's belly gave a happy little lurch at the sight. "I don't, uh, I don't think molecular gastronomy's really my thing."

Phil laughed. "Mine either. We can suffer together."

Clint's smile was breathtaking, especially when he was standing so close. "Okay, but I reserve the right to take you for a cheeseburger afterwards." His phone buzzed again. "I really -- "

"Go. I'll meet you in front of the restaurant at 8:30," Phil told him, and Clint nodded and turned to walk away. "That was amazing work, by the way," he added, and Clint grinned cockily at him over his shoulder, still walking.

Phil stared after him until there was the sound of a throat clearing. He realized the young family in the open elevator was waiting for him to move out of their way, and he apologized hastily and waved them off, wondering if he was destined to always be flustered by Clint Barton.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil arrived at the restaurant entrance at 8:25, surprised to find Clint waiting, chatting with the hostess. He stayed back and looked his fill for a moment, enjoying the view.

Clint had changed out of the dealer's uniform, and he was now wearing a beautiful light gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a pale blue tie. It wasn't quite as form-fitting as the dealer's outfit had been, but it still accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and his slim hips. He ducked his head and smiled as he said something and the hostess laughed, and Phil found himself smiling through a flutter of unease.

He had no problems with self-esteem -- he'd been called handsome, in a mild-mannered, Clark Kent kind of way -- but men who looked like Clint rarely showed an interest in him. They didn't even know each other, and he had no idea what they would find to talk about during dinner, but he was game to try. It had been a very long time since he felt the zing of attraction he felt with Clint. He squared his shoulders and moved the rest of the way into the restaurant.

"Hey, there you are," Clint said happily, his bright smile distracting Phil from the hostess' curious expression. He gave Phil a clearly appreciative once over, and Phil resisted the urge to run a hand down his tie, grateful he'd decided to change into a fresh suit. 

"Hello, " he said with a smile, before turning to the hostess. "Reservation for Coulson."

Her eyes widened as she glanced at the screen before her. "Oh, Mr. Stark's guest." She glanced back and forth between them, obviously trying to decide whether to be professional to Phil or friendly to Clint.

"Phil, this is Darcy, a good friend of mine. Darcy, Phil."

"Hello, Darcy." Phil gave her a pleasant, mild smile, wondering how long it would take news of their date to make the rounds of Clint's circle of friends. As soon as Darcy took her next break, he imagined.

"Nice to meet you, Phil." She glanced between them again, her smile shifting into something more friendly and a little teasing. "Right this way, gentlemen."

She grinned mischievously over her shoulder as she wound her way through the restaurant. "Mr. Stark sends his apologies -- the Chef's Table was already reserved for this evening."

"That's completely fine," Phil interjected. Eating at the Chef's Table made the diner just as much of a spectacle as the chef, and he was more than happy to avoid that.

She topped by a small table, tucked away and cozy, gesturing for them to have a seat.

"Yes, nevertheless, he did ask me to make it clear that, uh, he looks forward to working with you, and that your party's meal is on him."

"Was that Mr. Stark or Miss Potts?" Clint asked with a laugh, and Darcy grinned.

"You tell me."

Phil had been planning to expense this meal anyway, just to watch the vein in Nick's forehead pulse. He opened his mouth to object, and then shut it. Stark was known for extravagant gestures, and turning him down this early might introduce bad feeling into their interactions. Stark was _also_ known for being mercurial, and Phil was going to have his hands full keeping things on an even keel. No sense in upsetting that balance from the very beginning.

"That's very generous of him," Phil said.

Clint was glancing over the menu, his eyes wide. "No joke. Hey, if Stark's paying, we should invite the rest of the senior security staff."

"I think Phil might not be cool with that, Clint," Darcy said with a roll of her eyes. Then she cleared her throat and regathered her professionalism. "Um, I recommend the tasting menu, which will let you sample the widest variety of The Lab's specialties." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Bruce is in a good mood tonight, and I've heard nothing but compliments."

Clint laughed quietly. "Thanks, Darcy."

Phil echoed his thanks, and Darcy winked flirtily.

"Enjoy," she said, and turned to head back to the hostess stand.

Clint was still smiling as he turned back to Phil. The table was small and their knees bumped under it. Phil didn't mind, and Clint didn't seem to either.

"Bruce Banner is The Lab's executive chef," Clint said quietly, with a glance at the other patrons around them. "He's very, uh, tempermental. Darcy's roommate Jane is a sous chef here and Darcy hears all the stories."

"Sounds volatile."

Clint laughed. "Yeah, that's a good word for him."

Their server approached and they ordered drinks and decided on the tasting menu. The brief flurry of activity waned into a silence that was comfortable, rather than awkward.

Phil wasn't really used to comfortable silences on dates, let alone first dates.

"I asked around about you," Clint said, a hint of a smile playing over his lips as he studied Phil. His hands toyed with his silverware on the tabletop, and Phil had to tear his gaze away from the long fingers and prominent knuckles.

Phil raised his eyebrow, willing his face not to flush at the blatant interest in Clint's eyes.

Clint shrugged, and Phil swallowed roughly at the way Clint's muscles ripped under the fine material of his suit.

"I hadn't seen you before, and I wasn't sure if you were a new member of our team."

Phil sipped his drink, savoring the complex flavors of fresh herbs and fine spirits. "Would this be a problem? If we were on the same team?"

Clint snorted as he leaned back in his chair. "Well, it would more than a little hypocritical when Stark is openly fraternizing with Miss Potts."

"Ah," Phil said, pleased to have that nugget of intel comfirmed. "Well, sometimes what happens at the top has nothing to do with the rules further down."

"Nope, no rules that I know of, and I doubt it would matter anyway, since you're a consultant," Clint continued. "The newest person he's dragged into his crazy plan, from what I hear."

"You don't think it's a good plan?" Phil asked. "To restore the Twin Palms to glory as Stark Tower?"

"I think he'd be better off just bulldozing it to the ground, building another modern marvel like this one, and calling it an... homage," Clint said with a wry smile. "But I guess when you have that much money, you can do whatever you want with it."

Phil hummed in agreement.

"Will you be an onsite consultant?" Clint asked, his voice full of studied nonchalance, and Phil's heart thumped at the idea that the answer might be important to Clint.

"Ah, no. Visiting," he answered, carefully noting the quick flash of disappointment in Clint's eyes. "In fact, I fly back to New York tomorrow. But I will be making regular site visits over the duration of the project to oversee the retrofit process."

Clint smiled. "Good to know."

The food began arriving then -- true to the theme of the restaurant, it was served in and on what looked like laboratory equipment, rife with flasks and beakers, the sauces and condiments in pipettes. It should have been kitschy, but it worked with the food, not against it.

Both Phil and Clint began the meal with a healthy dose of skepticism for the concept, which melted away with each new bite. The flavors were incredible, combinations Phil would never have thought to try, full of unusual textures -- foams and powders and gels and brittles, hints of flavored smoke.

It was an incredible experience, a true feast for all the senses, and Phil was grateful to share it with Clint, who was game to try anything. He kept Phil laughing at the expressions he tried to hide when something clearly didn't work for him.

When the last drops and wisps of dessert were gone, Phil sat back in his seat with a happy sigh, pulse jumping as he watched Clint lick the last taste of something off his thumb.

The night had passed much more easily -- and pleasantly -- than Phil had expected, with none of the awkwardness and stiltedness he'd feared. Clint was gorgeous, flirty, and naturally charming, by turns teasing and unexpectedly shy, and Phil wanted to learn more about him. He wondered if Clint would be open to seeing him again, and suddenly, bi-monthly cross-country trips didn't sound so awful.

 _If_ Clint were interested in spending more time with Phil, that was.

"I have to admit," Clint said quietly, grinning at Phil, "That was much more fun, a lot more filling, and way better tasting than I thought it'd be."

Phil laughed. "Me too. I... maybe we can take a rain check on that burger?"

He felt heat flood his face and hoped Clint would attribute it to the couple of drinks he'd had. His heart was pounding entirely too hard for such a simple question.

Clint's face lit up, and he nodded. "Yeah, that'd -- that'd really be great. Do you know when you might be back in town?"

Phil shook his head, reaching into his wallet to pull out a card and hand it to Clint. "Not yet. But I don't think it'll be longer than two or three weeks from now."

Clint tucked the card into his coat pocket as he opened his mouth to reply, but then he went subtly still, his gaze fixed over Phil's shoulder, a smile that looked slightly nervous on his face. Phil turned a little in his chair to see a slim man in a chef's jacket approach their table. He wore small round glasses, his hair was a riotous mass of salt and pepper curls, and he walked slightly curled in on himself, as if to make himself look smaller.

"Dr. Banner," Clint said easily, and the chef shook his head, lifting a hand in dismissal.

"Bruce, please. Hello, Clint. How was everything?"

"Really amazing, man, it was fantastic! Bruce, this is Phil Coulson, with SHIELD Security; he's the newest consultant working with Stark on the Tower project. Phil, this is Dr. Bruce Banner. He's the executive chef here at The Lab."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Banner, and thank you, that was an... extraordinary meal. It certainly inspired me to think about food in ways I never have before."

The corner of Banner's lip curled self-deprecatingly, and Phil had the feeling he wasn't comfortable with effusive praise.

"Well. Good. That's the goal. Glad you enjoyed it." He glanced back and forth between them, and Phil had the feeling that he was checking off a box on a list: _tasting menu ordered, food served, check on the guests, check. Job done._ "Uh, if you'll excuse me. I'm glad you enjoyed the meal. And, uh, good luck. Working with Tony."

He muttered something that _may_ have been, _If you think this meal was an experience, just wait..._ , but Phil couldn't be sure. Before Phil could think of a reply, Banner had nodded to Clint and turned back toward the kitchen. Together, Phil and Clint watched his retreat, and Phil waited until the kitchen door was closed behind the man before raising an eyebrow.

"That's the man rumored to have occasional knife-throwing fits of rage?"

Clint shrugged, his smile wry. "Guess you just can't tell with some people."

He glanced around at where the staff was unobtrusively clearing things away for the night. "I, uh, guess, we should maybe get out of their hair?"

Phil felt a pang at the thought of the night ending. He was exhausted -- still on New York time -- but he hadn't had a date that went this well in years. He didn't want to say good night.

"I suppose you're right."

They had a brief battle over who would leave the tip, since their meal was taken care of.

"I invited you," Clint insisted.

"For drinks. I offered up dinner instead," Phil argued.

Clint pursed his lips, brow furrowing. "Fine."

Then, he brightened. "Okay, but the next one's on me."

Phil's heart gave a happy thump at the clear evidence that Clint was looking forward to a next date just as much as he was.

"Agreed."

He led the way through the restaurant, barely restraining a twitch at the sudden warmth of Clint's hand on the small of his back.

"That okay?" Clint murmured, and Phil nodded, hiding a smile.

"Fine."

"Can I walk you to the elevator?" Clint asked, and Phil nodded again. It was clear Clint didn't want the night to end any more than he did.

Maybe it didn't have to.

They were quiet as they navigated across the casino floor toward the guest elevators, but it was an easy silence. Phil gathered his courage, hoping an invitation now wouldn't sour the chances of a second date. He could charge through enemy territory without a single false step, but dating had always made him second-guess himself with every move.

They arrived at the bank of elevators, and Clint hit the up button and took a deep breath.

"Would you like to come up? For a drink?" Phil asked before his courage deserted him.

Clint blinked, clearly surprised. "I... yes, if you're not too tired. I know you've had a long day. But yes, I'd -- I'd, um, like that."

They were joined in the elevator by a loud group of half a dozen very drunk revelers, so with a glance, they moved toward the back, letting the group laugh and shove at each other at the front. Phil's hand brushed Clint's, and Clint tangled their fingers together -- lightly, so that Phil could pull away if he chose. When Phil glanced over, the sideways smile Clint was aiming at him was small and a little shy.

The obnoxious group got off several floors before Phil's, and Phil smiled as Clint breathed a clear sigh of relief as the doors closed to blessed silence.

"I've had a great time tonight," Phil said, and Clint grinned.

"Yeah, me too. I'm glad those cheating assholes sat at your blackjack table."

Phil laughed as the door opened. The walk to his suite was short, and Clint kept hold of his hand the whole time. He'd mentioned during dinner that he was an archer, and the calluses on his palm and fingertips rasped against Phil's skin, making his pulse jump. He swallowed roughly at the thought of those hands gliding over his body.

He let them into his suite, the door shutting behind them as Clint glanced around at the suite, letting out a low whistle.

Phil laughed as he crossed toward the minibar. "Yes, exactly. What would you like to drink?"

He turned to find Clint still standing just inside the door, his eyes narrowed and full of heat.

"Thanks, but I don't want anything to drink." Then, he blinked, and the moment broke. "Um, I mean, unless you do, and that actually _is_ why you asked me up here."

Phil smiled, crossing back to him. "I don't want anything to drink, either," he murmured as he stepped close enough to Clint to feel the heat of his body.

"Oh, good," Clint said, his breath catching as Phil slid his hands up to Clint's arms to his shoulders and nuzzled closer, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw. "I didn't -- I mean..."

His voice trailed off on a groan, his hands finding Phil's hips.

Phil smiled into Clint's skin, breathing in the scent of him, apple shampoo and some sort of woodsy bodywash or aftershave. Clean and simple and somehow still intoxicating.

He kissed along Clint's stubbled skin, catching his lips in a quick, rough kiss. Clint fell into the kiss, groaning as his mouth opened under Phil's. His hand slid around Phil's neck to hold him close, the other tugging to untuck Phil's shirt, callused fingertips grasping at Phil's back.

The kiss deepened and Phil lost himself in the wet heat of Clint's mouth, hands sliding down to cup Clint's ass, pulling him closer. His thigh pushed in between Clint's legs, and Phil moaned at the heat of Clint's body, Clint's hips rocking against his. Clint's cock hardened against him, and Phil hummed in satisfaction at the feeling, his own cock twitching in response.

Clint pulled out of the kiss with a gasp, his eyes dark and wide, groaning and biting his lip when Phil licked his lips.

He tugged at the jacket on Phil's shoulders. "Can we? I want to see more of you."

Flushing at the thought and the heat in Clint's gaze, Phil nodded.

They both stripped quickly, too eager for teasing, draping suit jackets and pants over chairs, leaving shirts and ties and everything else where they fell. Phil yanked the comforter off the bed and tumbled back into the crisp sheets, pulling Clint down atop him and into another kiss.

He groaned at the heat of Clint's skin next to his, the hardness of Clint's cock along his hip. Grasping at Clint's ass to pull him even closer, he wrapped a leg around Clint's, reveling in the feeling of Clint's strength around him.

Clint lowered his head, biting lightly at Phil's collarbone and Phil gasped.

"Shit. I, uh -- I don't have any supplies," he mumbled, trying to gather his thoughts with Clint doing his best to make him forget his name. "This was supposed to be a quick overnight."

"This is good," Clint answered, making Phil jump and swear as he scraped his stubbled jaw lightly over Phil's nipple. "So good. I just wanna feel your skin on mine, fuck, Phil, you feel so good..."

Phil urged him back up into another kiss, their hands gliding over each other's skin, grasping at taut muscle to hold each other close.

"So good," Clint repeated, sounding dazed. "Next time, you can fuck me, if you want..."

Then he froze, clearly realizing what he'd said. "Um -- I mean -- "

"Yes," Phil groaned, hips arching into Clint's at both the thought of a next time and the image Clint's words evoked. Clint under him, moaning, skin slick, muscles rippling as Phil filled him, thrust deeper... "Fuck. Yes..."

Clint laughed, reaching between them to wrap a hand around Phil's cock, making Phil hiss at the friction. "You like that idea?" Clint murmured. "Like the thought of fucking me, filling me up with your cock?"

"Oh, god, Clint..." Phil's head fell back on the pillows as he thrust into Clint's fist, lost in the rough grip of Clint's hand around him. He wrapped his own hand around Clint's cock, slicking it with the moisture that beaded at the tip. Clint groaned and tightened his hold on Phil's cock, and they fell into another kiss. It was rough friction and smooth heat, and Phil gasped, panting, as he rocked against Clint's body.

"I like that idea too..." Clint said when they'd pulled back to breathe once more. "Like the thought of being under you, Phil. You taking your time, opening me up, making me feel so good, and then fucking me slow and deep... your cock would feel so good in me, I -- oh, fuck..."

"Close," Phil gasped, pulling Clint close to bite at the muscle in his neck, bury his face in Clint's skin as Clint brought him even closer to the edge.

"Fuck, yeah," Clint growled. "Fuck, gonna come. Come on, Phil, wanna feel you come, I wanna -- yeah," he grunted as Phil cried out, his body jerking under Clint's as Clint worked him through his climax.

Phil trembled through the aftershocks, feeling Clint's slick cock harden further in his fist. Panting against Clint's skin, he tightened his hold, gripping Clint's ass with his other hand to pull him closer. Clint whined at the sensation, breath stuttering out as his muscles tensed.

"Come on," Phil urged. "So good, Clint, god, that was so good! Your turn now..."

"Fuck," Clint gasped, groaning Phil's name as he came in hot pulses over Phil's skin. "God, yes. Oh, god..."

He collapsed half over Phil, burying his face in Phil's neck as they both fought to get their breath back.

"Fuck," Clint said with a stunned laugh. "That was so good."

"Mmm," Phil replied, hazy with the exhaustion of traveling and the stupor of good sex.

Clint rolled over, stretching toward the floor to reach his undershirt. He cleaned them both up a little, laughing softly at Phil's grumbling. Tossing the shirt aside again, he moved easily into Phil's arms when Phil tugged at him. They drowsed for a few moments, and Phil was just slipping toward sleep when Clint sighed.

"I should go," he said, sounding reluctant.

"Don' go," Phil murmured, clutching at his shoulders, and Clint froze.

Phil did his best to rouse himself. He pressed a kiss to Clint's temple.

"You probably have to get home, but... I don't mind if you stay. I'd, uh -- like it if you did."

"Um, okay. I guess I can stay. At least for a little while." Clint reached down to pull the blanket off the floor and over them, cuddling closer.

Phil sighed in satisfaction and slipped into sleep.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

 

** Epilogue **

 

**_Fifteen months later_ **

Phil knocked as he slipped his key in the door of Clint's apartment.

"Clint?" he called softly as he opened the door. He didn't think Clint was home, but he sometimes worked unusual shifts, especially recently, with training starting for the Tower security team, and Phil didn't want to wake Clint up if he'd just gotten home and to sleep.

The apartment was empty, though, and Phil sighed, tired from traveling. Even after all these months, the cross-country trip was draining.

He dropped his keys into the little purple ceramic bowl by the door, stowing his bag in Clint's bedroom.

He'd texted Clint earlier in the day to remind him he was coming in, and he texted again now.

_Got here safe. At your place._

Leaving his phone on the dresser, he headed into the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and then changed out of his suit and into more comfortable clothes.

His phone vibrated and he picked it up, lips unconsciously curving into a smile as he read the reply.

_Glad u got here safe. Lasagna in fridge. I'll b late, don't wait up_

Phil's mind was still preoccupied with the meeting he'd had with Nick the day before, and he wandered around the apartment, quiet and lost in thought.

It was still very much Clint's apartment, despite the fact that Phil stayed there 85% of the time he came to Vegas.

He and Clint had never really discussed what was going on between them, other than a very brief and fumbled conversation about four months into Phil's contract with Stark, in which both he and Clint admitted they weren't seeing anyone else.

Gradually, he'd started staying overnight at Clint's, and then staying full weekends there, and one day, when he left to return to New York, there was a new key on his keyring, the bow of which was marked with purple nail polish, to distinguish it.

Phil was determined not to overstay his welcome, and not to take Clint for granted. He gave Clint advance notice every time he came into town, and nearly every time, Clint invited him to stay.

Even though he hadn't meant to, he realized, he'd left his mark on Clint's place. In Clint's life. He had work clothes in the closet, and sleep clothes and casual outfits in the dresser. His bodywash and shampoo sat next to Clint's in the shower, his DVDs and Blu-rays were intermingled with Clint's, and there were a couple of his shows on Clint's DVR.

He even noticed a pint of his favorite ice cream in the freezer next to Clint's treat of choice while he was heating up the lasagna and pouring himself a drink.

His life had become intertwined with Clint's in a way he never could've expected when Nick first sent him to meet with Stark. Phil was happy -- happier than he could ever remember being -- but he'd grown increasingly restless with the nomadic life he'd been living. Now, with this project coming to an end, he felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

Unsettled but exhausted, he fell asleep in front of the TV while watching a basketball game. It was dark when he woke up, and Clint still wasn't home. Groaning at his stiff muscles, he dragged himself to bed and fell back into a restless sleep.

He woke again when the bed dipped.

"Y'home," he mumbled, and Clint laughed quietly as he slid in behind Phil, tangling their legs together and wrapping an arm around him to pull him closer.

"I'm home," Clint murmured. "Go back to sleep." He pressed a kiss to the nape of Phil's neck, and Phil hummed in satisfaction and fell back into sleep.

*

It was still early when Phil woke again, the soft light of pre-dawn slipping in around the blinds. Clint was still and quiet behind him as Phil blinked and stretched, but Phil could tell he was awake.

"Morning," Clint said softly. Even with the rasp of sleep in his voice, he sounded... subdued.

"Morning," Phil said, snuggling back into his arms. "You're up early for getting home so late."

Clint only hummed in acknowledgment, and Phil frowned. He wriggled around until he was facing Clint.

He couldn't help but smile at the sight. Clint's eyes were half-closed, his jaw dark with stubble; there was a pillow crease in his cheek, and his hair was half-smashed-flat and half-wild-spikes.

Clint smiled back, but it was weak, just a twitch of amusement -- probably at Phil's dandelion-inspired bedhead.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and Clint shrugged. He reached for Phil's hand, intertwining their fingers, staring down at their hands to avoid Phil's gaze. Phil just waited him out, giving his fingers a brief squeeze.

"Overheard Stark and Nat talking yesterday," Clint said after a moment. "Sounds like the Tower system is pretty much up and running."

Phil nodded, his heart twisting at how unhappy Clint sounded at the idea, and how much he was trying to hide it.

"Yes, the testing is pretty much complete. Nick's flying out Monday to finalize handover from the testing team to the firm Stark's contracted for maintenance."

The silence stretched out. Clint's lips were a tight, flat line. 

"So, you're pretty much done here," Clint said eventually.

Phil took a deep breath and nodded. He'd been thinking of this conversation for weeks, a million different outcomes spooling out in his mind, but without seeing Clint's reactions, he hadn't known which way it would go. He had a better idea now.

"Yes," he said after a moment. "I had a meeting with Nick a couple of days ago. Our contract with Stark is pretty much fulfilled."

Clint nodded, ducking his head so that the shadows hid his face from Phil.

"It's been a great contract," Phil went on. "Stark is a huge client for us, and it's gathered some interest from some pretty substantial potential clients. A resort owner in Palm Springs, a few management companies in Aspen and Vail -- and a couple of owners and management firms here in town."

Clint's hand tightened around Phil's, and his head came up; he stared, wide-eyed at Phil. His eyes were bright even in the dim room, and Phil's heart clenched at the sight of the unshed tears in them.

"You've had more offers here? In Vegas? Do you think -- I mean... are you going to take one of them?"

"I could. I could keep working contract to contract out here while staying based in New York," Phil said.

"But you don't want to," Clint realized, his voice flat.

Phil shook his head, gripping Clint's fingers before he could pull away. "I don't. And Nick agrees. As I said, we had a meeting. He decided it would be a good idea for SHIELD Security to set up a western branch. Somewhere with good access to the mountains, the southwest, and the west coast. We're thinking Vegas might be a good fit."

He couldn't help but smile at Clint's indrawn breath. His hands grasped Phil's so tight it was nearly painful. Clint's eyes were wide with shock.

"You -- move here? To Vegas? Completely? You'd do that?"

Phil shrugged. "I'm... considering it. A few things factor in."

"But... you have a life. In New York. Could you just give it all up?"

 _My life is here_ , Phil thought, _with you_. But he wasn't sure he could say that, or that Clint was ready to hear it. 

Considering his words carefully, Phil took a deep breath. "I have an apartment in New York. It's cold and dark, and I kind of hate being there alone. I have neighbors who don't know me, a beautiful car I never get to drive. I have friends who are colleagues, that I don't ever see, because either I'm traveling and working or they are."

He studied Clint's face in the brightening room. There was hope in his eyes, so guarded and carefully held. They hadn't delved too deeply into their pasts, but Phil knew some of Clint's history, and how many times he'd hoped for something, anything, only to have that hope cruelly snatched away. Phil vowed to do his best not to heap any more heartbreak on Clint's already overflowing pile.

"We haven't talked about this thing between us, Clint. We've just kind of drifted along, and I've been okay with that until now. But if I make this move, I'd... I'd want more than just a couple weekends a month with you. I'm not saying I won't be traveling, because I will, we have a lot of work to do still, but I... I'm interested in seeing if what we have here could become... more. When I come home from traveling, I'd want to come home to you. And know that it's home."

Clint closed his eyes and choked out a sound, maybe a laugh, or a sob, Phil couldn't quite tell, and he hurried on.

"It's a lot, I know, because like I said, we haven't ever talked about this, and if you're not ready for that now, then -- "

"Yes. I... yes." Clint cleared his throat, rolling his head to the side to try and unobtrusively wipe his face on the pillow. "It's been hard, Phil -- every time you go, I've watched you leave, and I've wondered if... if you'd come back. But... I didn't want to ask, and screw everything up, you know? Hearing Tony and Nat yesterday, I wondered... I wondered if this would be the last time I'd come home to see you here."

His voice wavered, and he stopped. Phil pulled on his hands, and Clint moved closer, into Phil's arms, resting his face in the crook of Phil's neck.

"I'd really like knowing that when you leave, you're coming back," he murmured into Phil's skin.

Phil tightened his arms around Clint, the unease he'd been feeling for weeks surging into bright happiness. He laughed, more than a little shakily. "Me too. Okay. I'll give Nick a call, tell him I've decided. There's a lot to do, setting up a new office, and -- "

His breath caught and his words stuttered into a groan as Clint bit lightly at the skin just below his ear.

"Later," Clint murmured. "It's early, we're both awake, and I haven't welcomed you back. Shown you how happy I am that you're, um, _home_."

Phil laughed shakily, one hand sliding into Clint's hair to hold him close, the other clutching at the firm muscles of Clint's back, his ass.

"Show me..." he murmured, and Clint did.

**END**


End file.
